


In Memoriam

by KCKenobi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Has Issues, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Headaches & Migraines, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Hurt Obi-Wan Kenobi, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Poetry, Jedi Master Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, Kinda, Men Crying, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug, Poor Obi-Wan Kenobi, Post-Star Wars: Attack of the Clones, Qui-Gon Jinn mentioned, Shmi Skywalker mentioned, Sickfic, Whump, but he's working through them lol, it makes me laugh every time that that has its own tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25917991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KCKenobi/pseuds/KCKenobi
Summary: Obi-Wan has a concussion, and needs Anakin to read to him. But as old wounds are torn open and secrets spilled, they find the most meaning between the lines.[or: Anakin tells Obi-Wan what happened to his mother. The heart-to-heart that follows may or may not save the galaxy]
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 73
Kudos: 648





	In Memoriam

**Author's Note:**

> This fic took me a stupid amount of time to write – usually I can do something of this length in under a week easily (and sometimes even in one night) but I’ve been sitting on this one since…April? So a huge thank you to my pals on tumblr who gave me the final push to finish it <3

“So, how much did you bribe her?”

Obi-Wan winced as the door slammed shut. He knew even without looking up that Anakin was already kicking off his boots in the doorway – probably leaving them somewhere he’d trip over them later – and bulldozing his way to the kitchen. Lowering the datapad into his lap, he exhaled and leaned back into the couch. So much for being able to read.

“Come on, seriously. How’d you get Vokara Che to let you out of the Halls of Healing?” Anakin said, sweeping past him. He put the kettle on without even asking if Obi-Wan wanted tea – he knew the answer was always yes. “Wait, _did_ she let you out? You didn’t escape again, did you?”

“Oh, honestly. It was _one_ time.”

“You passed out in the middle of the hall!”

“I did not,” Obi-Wan insisted. “I was just…taking a little rest.”

Anakin scoffed. “Yeah, face-down on the marble floor. In front of the junior astronomy class.”

Though Obi-Wan pretended not to hear him, his ears reddened at the tips.

“Anyway, I did _not_ escape. Master Che let me out this morning,” he said. “Well, I’m on parole, at least. That woman is relentless with the check-ups.”

Anakin snorted as he reached into the cabinet for Obi-Wan’s favorite mug, the one he’d given him their first year as master and apprentice. He’d signed it on the underside – “ _Happy birthday_ _from your favorite pathetic lifeform”_ – though the ink was faded now. When the kettle started to whistle, he poured tea for each of them and made for the couch.

Obi-Wan’s nose was buried in a datapad, and Anakin took the opportunity to study him. He looked better than he had the past few days – though that wasn’t exactly hard to do. A punctured lung, three broken ribs, a broken shoulder, and a concussion don’t make for a pretty picture. But the healers had done their best work on him, as they always did, and now only the phantom of pain remained – a furrowed brow, sunken cheekbones, skin a little too pale. Still, Anakin wondered if they’d let him out of the Halls too soon. He looked worn, and Anakin could read in his face the telltale signs of a headache.

But then Obi-Wan looked up, leaning forward to take the mug from his hands, and Anakin tried to wipe the worry off his own face.

“So, how’s the ol’ noggin today? Still concussed?” he said. He reached down to ruffle Obi-Wan’s hair, chuckling when he squirmed away and tried to flatten it back down.

“I’m fine. Well, I was, before you came along to disturb the peace.”

“Me? Disturbing the peace? Never.” Anakin sat down beside him. “But really – aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“I wouldn’t call sitting on the couch an extreme sport.”

“Maybe not,” Anakin said, “but it’s a step up from sleeping. Maybe you should try to take a nap.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. “My, how peculiar. I thought I’d left Vokara Che in the Halls, but here she is – right here in my living room!”

Anakin rolled his eyes. _Difficult as ever_. But it was good that they were joking around like this, he knew. With all the tense conversations, the talk of battle plans, all the dancing around things no one could say, they needed these moments of levity. Moments where everything felt normal. Like there was no war, and Anakin was still a Padawan, and his mom was still –

_No. Not right now._ He shoved the thought down and locked it away before it could ruin the moment. Right now, he wasn’t thinking about her. Right now, he wasn’t miserable, and he would cling to the feeling as long as it lasted.

Looking back at the datapad, Obi-Wan sipped his tea. His eyes moved across the text line by line, but then slowed to a stop. He huffed and rubbed a hand down his face.

“What?”

“Nothing.” When Anakin’s only reply was a pointed look, Obi-Wan sighed – giving in a bit easier than expected. He gestured toward the datapad. “With the concussion…really, it’s not a big deal. I’m just having, ah, a little trouble reading. The words blur or I lose my place, and I keep forgetting what I’ve just read and it’s just…a bit frustrating, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Anakin’s face softened. That wasn’t what he’d expected him to say at all. “Want me to read to you?”

The room was dimly lit, but he swore he saw Obi-Wan’s face redden a little. “I’m fine. Really.”

“No, come on,” Anakin insisted. “I don’t mind. Hand it over.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. He looked back down at the words, squinting a little, and for a moment Anakin humored him.

He counted eleven seconds before Obi-Wan shut his eyes and released a heavy exhale.

“I supposed that…might be nice,” he admitted finally. “If you’ve got nothing better to do.”

“Please,” he said. “It’s this or scraping grime off Artoo’s jet thrusters. You’re doing me a favor.”

Obi-Wan smiled at the lie, though didn’t challenge it. Wordlessly, he handed Anakin the datapad and sank into the couch, tucking his hands behind his head.

Anakin had expected something dry and duty-related – a mission report, maybe, or tactical briefings he’d missed while in the Halls – even though Master Che had insisted he not worry about the war until he was fully recovered. Instead, he found in the datapad a single column of text.

Poetry.

He kept the amusement off his face as best he could, but felt his eyebrows hitch just a bit. He knew Obi-Wan had once liked to read, before the war drained away all their free time. But he hadn’t heard him even mention books since…

_Oh._ Not since the time he’d accidentally-on-purpose eavesdropped on Obi-Wan and Duchess Satine when she was on Coruscant. They’d been in a heated debate over some literary work Anakin had never heard of, going back and forth about symbolism and something about the ‘death of the author.’ Anakin had been amused at the time, to hear his unflappable master get hot-headed over something as silly as a poem. But Satine tended to have that effect – she opened her mouth, and all Obi-Wan’s well-constructed defenses fell to his feet like they were made of cardboard.

Anakin nearly jumped as Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

“When you said you’d read it, Anakin, I assumed you meant _out loud_.”

_Oops_. He’d been staring at the screen in surprise for a bit longer than he’d intended.

“What,” he said, smiling, “you can’t read my mind?”

Obi-Wan chuckled as Anakin started to read:

_“I envy not in any moods_

_The captive void of noble rage,_

_The linnet born within the cage,_

_That never knew the summer woods.”_

Anakin’s voice fizzled out, though the words on the page continued. Okay, so maybe he’d never been the _best_ in his literature classes as a kid – though, in his defense, Basic wasn’t his first language – but for all he understood that, he may as well have been reading Shyriiwook.

“What did I just read?”

Obi-Wan looked amused. “Tennyson.”

“Well, it Tenny-sucks. Don’t tell me you actually got something out of that.”

“It’s poetry,” he replied, as though that explained everything, and Anakin fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Sometimes you have to dig for the meaning.”

“Right, okay. I’m digging, I’m digging…” He pantomimed shoveling, and Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “…and all I’m finding is something about birdcages.”

“Hmm. I didn’t realize I was teaching a literature class when I let you in here.”

Anakin made an obscene gesture, and though Obi-Wan chuckled, he suddenly looked a little more tired. Had this been a mistake? Should he leave?

But then Obi-Wan sipped his tea and smiled, and Anakin relaxed just a little.

“The poet’s saying he doesn’t envy a bird born in captivity,” he said. “Because it doesn’t know what it’s missing. It doesn’t ache for freedom.”

Something visceral in Anakin recoiled.

“Clearly the poet was never a slave.”

He spat the words a bit harsher than he probably should have. But he couldn’t find it in himself to regret them – not when he remembered so vividly how it felt to lean out the window of Watto’s shop every morning, just to catch a glimpse of the kids off to school and try to make out what they were saying, pretending to join in their conversations in his mind. Not when he remembered how many nights he’d overheard his mom awake at some odd hour, tinkering with droids until her crying stopped, knowing with crushing certainty that he couldn’t do a thing to help her. Not when he remembered rubbing his fingers over the spot he suspected his slave chip was buried, imagining what it would feel like to detonate.

He suddenly realized he was doing it now – massaging the place in his neck where the chip used to be. They’d deactivated it when he was freed, and later at the Temple it had been surgically removed. But he found himself wondering whether his mom still had hers when she died. It pained him to think of it – that even free, she still carried with her the device that could have ended her life a thousand times over. He could have freed her from that. He _should_ have freed her from that. But then her life had gone and ended anyway.

_“My son. Oh, My grown-up son.”_ Her voice came back to him now, enough to make his eyes burn. _“Now I am complete.”_

_“Mom…”_

“Anakin?”

Anakin realized he was clutching the datapad with shaking hands, and looked up to find Obi-Wan staring at him with a furrowed brow. Had he been speaking?

“I said I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan repeated gently. “I’d never thought of it that way.”

Anakin swallowed, but his throat felt tight. “It’s fine.”

“We can read something else. Or…I’m a little worn out, maybe we can pick up some other time – ”

“No,” Anakin said tersely. “No. I was just thinking.”

He picked the datapad back up again and found the spot where they’d left off. But the mood was ruined now. His mother’s face seemed to stare back at him from the screen, reminding him of how he’d failed, what he’d _done…_

Anakin cleared his throat. “ _I envy not the beast that takes_

_His license in the field of time,_

_Unfetter'd by the sense of crime,_

_To whom a conscience never wakes_ ;”

He finished the stanza and tried to return to their old banter, though he knew his voice was stilted. “Translation?”

The side of Obi-Wan’s mouth quirked up. He looked a bit pale.

“A beast slaughters its prey without conscience,” he explained. “It never knows to feel any sense of wrong.”

The datapad fell from Anakin’s hands.

_Like the Sand People._

He tried to shove the thoughts back into his mental vaults. _No, no. Don’t remember. Don’t._ But then they were flickering before his closed eyelids – the Sand People, one after another after another after another, falling. Falling to his blade, slashed to the ground instantly, mercilessly. Even children. Perhaps they weren’t like him, but they _were_ – sentients, with mothers like his mother and even love like his love. And he’d killed them, he’d _slaughtered_ them…

_Perhaps the Sand People aren’t the beasts after all._

“Anakin, are you – ”

“Don’t.”

“What’s…?”

“Nothing. Let’s just keep reading.”

_Obi-Wan could never understand. He’d see me for the monster I am._

“You’re obviously bothered by something. Why don’t we stop, maybe meditate on – ”

“Because I don’t want to meditate. I don’t want to talk. I just want to read your stupid book without you implying that I can’t keep my feelings under wraps.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not implying anything. But I can see that I’ve upset you somehow, and I’m just trying to understand why.”

“Well, stop trying to understand,” he snapped. “And stop being so condescending. I’m not your Padawan – you don’t get to make me feel like a lousy Jedi anymore.”

“I...what?”

Obi-Wan’s face was ashen, and his lips were parted slightly in, what…surprise? Hurt? Anakin felt a pang, but said nothing.

“You’re not a lousy Jedi,” Obi-Wan said softly. He wiped a hand across his forehead, where a light sheen of sweat had appeared. “Have I…have I make you feel that way?”

Something in Anakin was screaming at him to _stop, stop_ but the damage was done. He’d said it, and he couldn’t backtrack, and part of him didn’t even want to. He hated that Obi-Wan was being so…so _Obi-Wan_ about this. All gentle voice and soft eyes and _“I’m just trying to understand.”_ Why couldn’t he just yell back? Why couldn’t he get mad, get bitter, get _something_ so Anakin knew he was more than…more than…

“You’ve always thought it,” Anakin heard himself say. “From the beginning. You thought I was dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why would you think – ”

“Because you _told_ Qui-Gon so your _self_.”

Anakin didn’t remember getting to his feet, but suddenly he was looking down on Obi-Wan. He hadn’t meant to shout either, yet the words echoed through the space.

But he didn’t have time to bite his tongue. He didn’t have time to apologize.

Because then, Obi-Wan doubled over at the waist, face twisted in pain.

Ridiculously, the first thing Anakin processed was the mug of tea that went crashing to the floor, sending the dark liquid all down Obi-Wan’s pantleg and onto the carpet. Obi-Wan had two fistfuls of his hair, and was breathing deeply, shakily. Anakin dropped to his knees beside him, the anger rushing out of him as quickly as it had come, leaving on his tongue the bitter taste of fear.

“ _Kriff_ , Master…”

Obi-Wan shook his head sharply. One lip was tucked inside his mouth, and he bit down hard.

“Bring me the trash can.”

“Are you – ”

“The trash can,” he repeated sharply, not lifting his head from his hands. “ _Please.”_

Wordlessly, Anakin did as he was told. His hands shook as he handed it to Obi-Wan, who slid down to sit on the floor with the can between his knees. Obi-Wan’s hands were trembling, too – his whole body was wracked with shudders, each breath slow and labored.

“I’m calling the healers.”

“No,” Obi-Wan choked out. “It’ll pass.”

If he wasn’t already in so much pain, Anakin might’ve smacked him. “Obi-Wan, you were bleeding internally like, yesterday. It could be – ”

“It’s not that. Just my head. And…”

He stopped talking abruptly, dry heaving once over the trash can.

Anakin scolded himself. He should’ve payed more attention to the signs – noticed the glimmer of sweat, the dull eyes, and slight strain in his expression. He knew the concussion was the one thing that was far from fully healed, and what had he done? He’d yelled at the man. _Good, Anakin._ He spent day in and day out watching Obi-Wan’s back on the battlefield, only to kill him in his own living room.

Obi-Wan pulled his head out of the trash can and leaned back against the couch. He pulled the neck of his tunic up over his face to wipe the sweat away.

“False alarm, I think,” he rasped. “Sorry.”

Anakin was kneeling beside him. He took the trash can and put it aside, though still within reach in case.

“You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“Why? There’s no point.”

“I made it worse.”

“No, you didn’t. I’ve been on the edge of a migraine all day. The concussion…”

“I know.” He reached for the spilled mug on the ground, righting it and setting it up on the table. “You took your meds?”

“I think Master Che would force-feed them to me if I didn’t.”

“Yeah, and I’d help her.” Anakin leaned backward to mirror Obi-Wan’s position, pulling his knees to his chest. “Obi-Wan…”

As if he could sense the apology coming, Obi-Wan held up his hand.

“You spoke what was on your heart. That’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“Well, I’m sorry anyway.”

“No.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath, but it sounded like a shudder. “No. I needed to hear it. I…”

“Stop. You don’t feel well, and I’m…tired. Let’s just drop it.”

“But I need you to hear something, too.” Anakin could feel him turning to look at him, but didn’t look back. “You’re not dangerous.”

Even now, the word felt charged. He remembered hearing it in the hallway during his first visit to the Temple – all the jitters and excitement drained out of him with a single phrase, uttered from apprentice to master: _The boy is dangerous. They all sense it. Why can’t you?_

“Obi-Wan…”

“No, listen. When I said that, I was hurting.” Obi-Wan bit his lip, then released it. “I was jealous.”

The words seemed to drop the temperature of the air. Because, while Anakin had realized that deep down, hearing Obi-Wan say it aloud was something entirely different. He turned his head slowly then, but Obi-Wan had already looked away.

“I’d spent my entire apprenticeship feeling unwanted,” he said softly. He thumbed at the hem of his tunic, and Anakin noticed the shake in his fingers. “And so to see my master actually _want_ to train someone else…it hurt.”

Anakin’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean you felt unwanted? You and Qui-Gon…”

“…had communication issues and somewhat of a…rocky relationship, at times.” Obi-Wan stumbled on the last words, and Anakin tried to keep the shock from flooding his expression. “He was a good man. Of course he was,” he continued. “But…he was betrayed by someone close to him. I once did something to make him feel that way again. I don’t think… Well, we never quite recovered.”

Now Anakin was sure the surprise was painted all across his face. Obi-Wan rarely spoke of his apprenticeship. When he did, it was all business, all fact – “ _Qui-Gon and I had a mission here, once.”_ or _“Qui-Gon used Form IV, and I did too, for a time.”_ Anakin had never noticed the lack of personal details, the lack of emotion in any stories he’d told. For the first time, he wondered how much about his former master he didn’t know.

“Whatever you did,” he said, “I’m sure I’ve done worse.”

Anakin had tried for a little lightness in his voice, but Obi-Wan didn’t return it.

“Anakin,” he said slowly. “I left the Order.”

“You…what?”

Anakin felt like his brain had short-circuited. Obi-Wan – _Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,_ Council member, High General, hero to half the galaxy and Anakin’s best friend – had _left the order?_

Obi-Wan must’ve registered the shock on his face because he managed a short chuckle before his expression sobered again.

“It was only a few months. Qui-Gon and I were sent to a war-torn planet to retrieve a fellow Jedi. But there were children there trying to stop the violence. I felt called to help them.” He clenched both fists briefly, then released them. “Qui-Gon gave me the choice – leave them to meet their end, or stay. Stay and no longer be a Jedi.”

Anakin’s mouth was hanging open – he felt his jaw dangling, but couldn’t even move to close it. _Qui-Gon…did what? He just…and Obi-Wan decided…I mean, he_ should _have decided that, it was the right…the right thing to do, but…what?_ The thoughts barreled through his mind, incoherent and tumbling like waves, until finally only one remained:

_How much about Obi-Wan Kenobi don’t I know?_

“He came back, though,” Anakin eventually said, when he was able to move his mouth enough to speak. “Right?”

Obi-Wan inhaled slowly before releasing it. “Yes. Eventually.”

“He shouldn’t have left in the first place.”

“Perhaps not,” Obi-Wan said. “No, perhaps not. But people make mistakes. Qui-Gon was no exception.”

Anakin ran a hand down his face. “Just…how did you even _look_ at him the same after that?” he said. “After everything…you still loved him, didn’t you?”

He phrased it more as a statement than a question. He didn’t need Obi-Wan’s nod to know – he remembered the agony of the months following Qui-Gon’s death.

“But sometimes the people we love hurt us. They’re flawed. We all are,” Obi-Wan said. “That doesn’t mean we love them any less.”

Anakin stopped to consider that – loving someone, in spite of the awful they’d done. He wondered if he could’ve forgiven Qui-Gon the way Obi-Wan had, and rather doubted it. But Obi-Wan was more compassionate than anyone he knew. Obi-Wan could forgive anyone.

_Maybe even me._

Anakin shook his head. “Kriff,” he murmured. “I just…I wish that never happened to you. None of it – him leaving you like that…and then losing him on Naboo. I wish…” He looked up at Obi-Wan then, incredulous. “Didn’t you ever wish things were different?”

Obi-Wan didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his knees, fingers tracing the fabric still damp with spilt tea.

“I’d rather lose Qui-Gon a thousand times,” he said, “than to never have had him in the first place.”

In the silence that followed, Anakin marveled. Because, given the choice – he knew he’d do anything to shed his own despair. He wanted to forget it all – Mom’s voice as the life drained out of her, the weight of her body in his arms, the weight on his heart every night as he relived the horrible things he’d done. Even the knowledge that his mother had loved him, even the fond memories and the traces of joy within them – it hurt. Their absence stung.

“I guess that’s just one more way you’re a better man than I am,” Anakin said softly, his voice starting to waver. “Because I do. All the time.”

Obi-Wan sat up, straightening his back against the seat of the couch. “What do you mean?”

And Anakin recognized, then, the crossroads at which he stood.

He could tell Obi-Wan. He could tell Obi-Wan everything.

Part of him still cried out, “ _He won’t understand.”_

Part of him still insisted, “ _You’re a monster. You can’t be forgiven. You don’t_ deserve _to be forgiven.”_

Part of him knew, _“You don’t deserve for this man to call you his best friend.”_

And yet.

“Obi-Wan…” he said, and lost all ability to keep his face straight and his voice steady. “I’ve done something terrible.”

And the truth poured out.

By the time he finished, he was crying so hard he wasn’t sure Obi-Wan could even understand him. The words ran together and got lost in the shudders that wracked his chest, tangling and twisting with the sobs. He’d been cross-legged on the floor beside Obi-Wan. But now, he folded in on himself. Vaguely, he felt Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder. He felt Obi-Wan looking at him, searching for his watery eyes, though Anakin wouldn’t look up. He felt the carpet beneath his legs, but it didn’t feel real – like the ground had been stolen from beneath him, and he was falling.

But Obi-Wan didn’t let go.

“Don’t tell me there wasn’t some truth to it, what you said all those years ago,” Anakin choked out. “Because you knew it then, and you know it now – there’s something inside me that neither of us knows what to do with.” He rubbed his sleeve over his eyes, shuddering. “And it’s…it’s dangerous. _I’m_ dangerous, I’m—”

Obi-Wan’s silence, at first, was excruciating. He was still sitting on the floor, arms crossed over his knees, and Anakin could feel the depth of his gaze even while avoiding it. He didn’t dare reach out into the Force to sense what Obi-Wan was feeling – he already knew what he’d find.

“You’re right. You did do a terrible thing, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

Anakin’s shoulders slumped – but, to his surprise, not from shame. From _relief_. Relief that someone else was about to condemn him the way that he had condemned himself. That he was getting what he deserved, and—

“But you are _not_ a terrible person.” At that, Anakin’s eyes finally flickered up. “You have made a grave mistake, and it has hurt people. And at the root of that, there are wounds that need to be addressed. Wounds in your heart,” Obi-Wan continued. “But while you’re not able to undo the past, you are not defined by it. You get to decide who you are, going forward.”

Anakin sniffled. “I don’t want to be this…this _dark_ ness.”

“And if you so choose, you won’t be.” He squeezed Anakin’s arm, and the warmth radiated through it. “You are not what you’ve done.”

Anakin tried to speak, but it came out as a sob. He rubbed his eyes and tried again.

“I just want to stop missing her so much,” he said.

And then he was pitching forward, crumbling. As if this room were a planet and Obi-Wan its core, Anakin fell toward him like gravity.

“To miss her is to have loved her,” Obi-Wan said into Anakin’s hair. “And to love is never a loss.”

Anakin clung to the stability – to Obi-Wan’s solid chest against his cheek, the tunic rubbing his skin and soaking up the tears, Obi-Wan’s chin on his head and arms around his shivering frame. Yes, he was gravity. Gravity. The only thing anchoring him here to the ground, to the light, to the hope of being okay.

And for the first time, Anakin felt he could actually mourn. He wasn’t lifted from the burden of what he’d done – and likely never would be. But for a moment, he could separate it. He could mourn for his mother, for the life he’d left behind, for the freedom he’d never gotten to grant her. He could mourn for who he used to be, for the days of talking to Obi-Wan without filtering a thing, for the ease and the shelter of a best friend, a brother. He could mourn the loss of love. The loss of innocence. The loss of light.

But Obi-Wan was right. Yes, he’d lost those things. Yet he’d _had_ them, too. Even if it hurt to remember them now.

Anakin’s breaths had started coming slower, easier, syncing with the rise and fall of Obi-Wan’s chest. His body ached from sitting on the floor, his back twisted strangely, but still he didn’t pull away.

And when his eyes finally opened, still blurry and wet and red, they came to rest on the table – where a datapad lay discarded, the last of the text unread:

_I hold it true, whate'er befall;_

_I feel it, when I sorrow most;_

_'Tis better to have loved and lost_

_Than never to have loved at all._

Anakin let himself lean into the warmth of steady hands, anchored by their gravity.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem they’re reading is Canto 29 from "In Memoriam A.H.H." by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, so obviously credit where credit is due. It’s public domain now anyway, but wanted to be clear that I didn’t write it myself (lol I wish).
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos always appreciated 😊
> 
> My star wars tumblr: [ kckenobi ](https://kckenobi.tumblr.com/)


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